


Familiarity

by xXScreenSaverXx



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Cohabitation, Internal Monologue, Its just a mess, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, ajay is a mess, but thats pretty much a given, i gotta be honest i have no idea whats going on here, so is pagan, this is literally just Ajay droning on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 21:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXScreenSaverXx/pseuds/xXScreenSaverXx
Summary: Ajay's never known an animal quite like Pagan. Come to think of it, he's never known anything quite like the mess of a man sitting before him.





	Familiarity

Ajay has never known a wild animal quite like Pagan. He’s never known anything in the world like the man sitting before him, legs crossed loosely where he’s slung himself across the seat like he owns it, owns _Ajay_, face a mask of bored curiosity, looking for all the world like a man fixed securely in total serenity. Ajay would almost believe the lie, if the amused glint in his eye didn’t give the game away.

It’s a game that Ajay is familiar with, having become increasingly used to it during his time spent with the other man, watching with a mixture of resentment and nervousness as Pagan would spend his time lounging around the estate as though he was still in charge, as though Ajay hadn’t already won.

It was the game of a large cat toying with its prey, swatting it back and forth with the air of a predator that knows it’s the top of the food chain. And, whether he’s willing to admit it or not, Ajay knows that Pagan is still pulling the strings, behind the scenes. He knows that the man surrendered all too easily, nudging the helicopter pilot back down to solid ground at the first sign of hesitance on Ajay’s part. It’s the amusement, the sly glances, the just-a-little-too-comfortable demeanour, all of it, and he can practically feel the trap setting around him.

Which would be an issue, if Ajay were particularly inclined to care.

Instead, he just raises his glass of whiskey to Pagan in a mocking salute, ignoring the amused huff of the man in front of him in favour of rechecking the stacks of paperwork that _apparently_ running a country requires.

Because if Pagan is an animal, his mask of humanity betrayed by wild eyes and a paper-thin smile that cuts like shattered glass, perhaps Ajay is too.

He’s still new, still adrift in the new world of pain and - _fuck, more pain? Really? _before him, but it’s undeniable that he’s not without guilt in this mess he’s helped to create. Ajay doubts that he could go back to America if he tried. So instead, he circles, searching out Pagan’s vulnerabilities, matching them with his own and making it obvious that if Ajay goes down, he’s dragging Pagan-fucking-Min down with him.

Together, they’re like probing fingers in open wounds, cautious enough to restrain from digging too hard, but with enough resentment and blatant curiosity hanging in the air to make daily life miserable.

It’s a push and a pull, a give and take. Pagan mocks him for the Golden Path, the impossible choice between its equally damning leaders, and Ajay flaunts his heritage, throwing Pagan’s shallow digs and barbed compliments back in his face until the older man storms out of the room, face flushing red with anger and fists clenched tight. The days wash into weeks, the mess of a cohabitation blending into a wash of furious reds and blacks.

Ajay doesn’t hate Pagan.

He wishes that he could, after everything that he’s done, but he can’t. It’s hard to hate someone that you can understand, can relate to on such a visceral level. Ajay doesn’t blame Pagan, either. It burns, catching the sorrowful looks that Pagan throws his way when he thinks that nobody’s watching, seeing the beaten-down slump in the other man’s shoulders, and knowing that Pagan doesn’t hate him, either. 

Which is why he’ll welcome Pagan’s trap, whatever it might be, with open arms. He’s willing to ignore the snare closing around his neck, if it’ll settle the irrational guilt gathering deep in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t hate Pagan, he reminds himself as the other man upturns his lips into a sardonic smirk, raising his own glass of whiskey in response to Ajay’s toast.

Ajay already runs the country. The paperwork is signed, the keys passed along in grim silence. He knows better than to mistake Pagan for a housecat, domesticated and purring. The man is an animal to the core. So he waits, for the claws to come out, for the fangs to sink deep into his side.

They don’t.

The insults and rebukes keep coming, interspersed with the lonely, longing looks that Ajay pretends not to see, ignoring the way his chest clenches and his heart _aches_. He brushes past the glints of inquisitiveness and amusement in Pagan’s actions, marching forward resolutely, away from the potential _wreck _behind him. But Ajay is an animal too, and he’s relied on his instincts for too long to ignore the way they scream at him to stop talking, to just turn around and _help sort this fucking mess of a man out, right now, do it now!_

It takes about five months before Ajay breaks down, spinning on his heel to catch Pagan’s arm as he marches past, raising an eyebrow with forced calmness and asking, “It’s been a long day. Want a drink?”

Their eyes meet, cycling between defence, confusion and concern, before eventually settling on a gentle warm that Ajay can’t quite ever decipher.

It isn’t much. Ajay knows that he’ll never quite tame any part of the enigma standing before him, nor will he ever lie down and let Pagan do the same to him. But Ajay figures that if something’s really going to happen, at least he’ll be the one to kickstart it.

And if nothing else, perhaps it’ll help alleviate the loneliness that binds them together, that drags Ajay down into despair every night that he doesn’t return Pagan’s longing, saddened gaze with one of his own.

Kyra knows, they’re more alike than either of them is willing to admit.

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah, this came from nothing and has no plot whatsoever. whoops!


End file.
